For Yamcha
by LisaB-md
Summary: Unfaithful"? Why does that have to mean over-sexed skirt-chaser? Can't there be a shade of grey that doesn't paint Yamcha into a one-dimensional corner? A short, realistic YamchaBulma breakup story.


For Yamcha

A/N:  *sigh* Poor Yamcha.  In most fanfics he's either a shallow shirt-chaser or the perfect boyfriend who gets duped and dumped.  I think the truth is somewhere in-between.  

Warnings?  This is Bulma in her purest form, but I don't think it qualifies as bashing.  Very mild language and references to sex.

Disclaimer:  You know, I forgot the disclaimer the first time I posted this story and I KNOW everyone who read it was totally convinced that I created DragonballZ.  Alas, I don't own DBZ and goodness knows I'm not making any money off this story.  Sorry for the confusion.  ^_~

As always, big thanks and hugs to Ember for beta-ing. 

**********************************************************************************************

"And I want you to wear the red tie not that ugly green one, OK?"

"Yes. Green tie. Got it." Yamcha said. He'd been on autopilot for ten minutes but Bulma hadn't noticed.

"RED tie! Augh! Yamcha, are you paying any attention to me at all?" Bulma asked.

Yamcha tore his eyes away from the television screen. The Carp were up on the Tigers three to two, but the Tigers had two men on base and Fuma was on deck. 

"Sorry, Bulma. The game's getting good," he said.

"Well, I would like to think going to the Mayor's gala Saturday night with me is more important than a stupid baseball game! Honestly, Yamcha. Are you ever going to grow up?" 

"I said I'm sorry, Bulma. This game's important. There are playoff implications. You see, if the Tigers win, then the Carp will be two and a half games behind us. We need that cushion if we're going to make it into the playoffs."

"I'm sure that's all really interesting to you, Yamcha, but I'm talking about important things here. Now, I want you to pick me up at 7:15. I know it starts at seven, but I don't want to be the first guest. . . ."

Yamcha's eyes slid back to the TV just in time to see Fuma hit a two run double. _Yes!_ he thought. _ Now if they can just not give up anything in the ninth. . . ._

". . .you ready? Yamcha? Hello?" Bulma's voice filtered back in.

"I'm sorry, babe. I missed that last part."

"_I said_ are you ready to go?"

Yamcha looked at his half finished beer and the almost-finished game. It would be nice to get to finish both, but Bulma was ready to leave. He could probably get her to stay until both were finished, but he wouldn't be allowed to enjoy either. She would keep yammering on about this or that, expecting him to pay attention and that would just get him in trouble. With Bulma, it was best to know when to cut your losses. 

"Sure, babe. Just let me get the check—"

"I paid the check ten minutes ago, Yamcha. If you had been paying attention to me instead of that dumb baseball game, you would have known that."

He almost said it. He almost opened his mouth and said "that dumb game means a lot to me." Fortunately his survival instincts kicked in and he shut his mouth. He loved Bulma, but he'd learned a few lessons over the years. Rule number one was 'Do not disagree unless her safety is an issue'. It was one of the compromises one had to make to be with the lovely Bulma Briefs. 

_And how does she compromise to be with you, hmmm?_ his brain asked. 

_She isn't supposed to,_ he thought. _She's the lady. A gentleman is supposed to do these things for his lady. _

_So _she_ says,_ his brain said. _Bulma doesn't know everything, you know._

But Yamcha refused to pay attention to his brain and its disloyal thoughts. He offered his arm to Bulma and they walked out of the bar into the cool night. They went back to his apartment and made love. As his heart calmed in the quiet aftermath, he thought with certainty that he loved her. Sure, she was bossy but that was Bulma. There had been a time in his life when he had needed her bossiness. She had taken the desert bandit and molded him into a respectable man, a successful man, even. No, he wasn't the vice-president of a company or anything like that, but he was the Talented and Popular short-stop of the Capital City Titans. He was making good money (not Bulma Briefs money, of course, but good money all the same,) with endorsements and his team was positioned to roll into the playoffs. He would never have accomplished all that without Bulma. He loved her, plain and simple and she loved him. After all, she went all the way to Namek to use the Dragonballs for him. That proved it, right? Her irritability since he returned was probably due to the fact that they had spent a long time apart and they just needed to get used to each other again, that's all. 

So even if she was "prickly" as Master Roshi would put it, she was the first and only girl he had ever loved. Sometimes he wondered why they never talked about getting married like people in love were supposed to do. He'd brought it up in the past only to be given excuses like "I'm too young" or "I'm too busy."  He figured that Bulma would bring it up when the time was right. After all, he had only been back a few months and then baseball season had started and Bulma was busy with building things for Vegeta, there hadn't been much time for talk about things like that. _We'll get around to it, plenty of time_, he thought and he drifted off to sleep. 

**************************************

Giving into childish impulses is never a good idea, but as he was getting dressed for the mayor's gala, the green tie just called to him._ It's your body, Yamcha._ _You should wear what you want,_ the tie said. _Red's boring and besides, every guy there will wear a red tie. I'll make you stand out! _

He fingered the red tie.

Then chose the green one.

Needless to say, Bulma hadn't been happy. The entire ride to the event was filled with comments like "you never listen to me" and "can't you do one little thing I want?" Yamcha kept his mouth shut. He'd asked for this the moment he put on the green tie, so he let her vent. 

Unfortunately, the evening went from bad to worse. It turned out the new mayor was a big Titans fan. He had been thrilled the star shortstop was in attendance at his gala and spent the first hour taking Yamcha around and introducing him.  Bulma, used to being the star attraction at events like these, was relegated to tagging along. She enjoyed Yamcha's celebrity as long as it didn't upstage her own. Yamcha watched as she grew more and more sullen--never a good sign. At nine o'clock she pleaded she had a headache and decided to leave. Yamcha offered to drive her home, but she snapped "Oh, do stay and enjoy the party. Far be it from me to separate you from your loyal fans!"  Then she'd popped a capsule containing her own car and left him alone at the party. 

That was how he wound up here, a small bar near the downtown hotel. He hadn't stayed at the party much longer himself, but rather than go home, he went for a walk in the cool night air. After two blocks he decided what he really wanted was a beer. He had wandered around that stupid party for two hours with a goofy glass of merlot in his hand because Bulma wouldn't let him drink beer at social events, ("too common," she would say) so he went into the first bar he saw.

It was a small, casual place, the kind he and Bulma never went too. She preferred the upscale, trendy hangouts where she might be recognized or run into people she knew. This place, with its neon beer signs, wooden paneling, and autographed photographs of athletes, felt like home. He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and did something he didn't think he'd be able to do this evening---relax. 

He took a sip of beer and turned around on his stool so he could look around a bit. The bar was far from full; a couple of booths were occupied by couples and two guys were playing pool at the table on the far side. Behind the pool table, however, was something that Yamcha hadn't seen in years--a pinball machine. 

Yamcha took another sip of his beer and sauntered over to the machine. It was a good one; not new, but it had lots of tracks and holes for the balls. He reached into his pocket, found his change, and put the coins in. 

The machine sprang to life and the ball popped into the shoot. He drew back the launcher and released. The game was on. 

He didn't notice how long he played, only that his change had run out. He flagged the cocktail waitress. 

"Can I get some change," he asked, handing her a bill. "And another beer?"

"Sure," she said, smiling.

Yamcha, always friendly, smiled back. 

"You have pretty eyes," the waitress said and left to get his change and beer.

Yamcha was taken aback. It had been so long since anyone had given him a compliment. Oh, he got things like "Great catch!" or "Good game!" all the time. That was his job though, he was supposed to have good games and make great catches. It had been a very long time since anyone had said anything nice about _him_.  Bulma occasionally complimented what he wore, but it usually turned out the shirt or tie or whatever she liked was something she had bought for him herself.  

The waitress returned with his beer and handed him his change.  

"You must like pinball," she said.

Yamcha blushed.  With better and faster video games coming out every other week, pinball was hardly trendy or cool.

"Yeah, I always have.  Something about making that silver ball dart around just appeals to me.  I guess I'm just a simple guy at heart."

She heard the apology and self-deprecation in his voice.  "Hey, if you like it, that's all that matters.  Play what makes you happy."  

"I plan to," he said and turned back to the machine.

"Hey, aren't you the Titan's shortstop?  Yamcha Akechi?"

He turned back to the waitress, prepared for the obligatory autograph request.

"Yes."

"So did you see the game tonight?"

_The game! _ How had he forgotten?

"I only saw some of it.  The last I saw Fuma hit that two-run double in the bottom of the eighth.  Did they win?"  

"They almost didn't!  They let the stupid Carp tie it up.  I don't think Ekei is going to be with the Tigers next year after giving up those runs."

"He's been asking to be let go all season, if you ask me."  He paused, realizing he was  talking baseball with a girl -- a girl who actually _knew_ baseball.  

"So what happened?" he asked.

"With two men on, Magoichi hit a home run."

"Yes!" he cheered.  "Boy, we needed that win."

"I know.  Now the Titans are two and a half games up with only five left to play.  Do you think you can hold out?"

"After that gift, we'd better, right?"  

"Right!  I'll let you get back to your game.  Nice chatting with you," she said.

Yamcha watched her head back behind the bar.  He finished off his change and his beer and then he walked up to the bar to drop a tip in the jar.

"Thanks," he said.  "For the beer and the conversation."

"Anytime," she said.  "I'm here every night and it's pretty dead after happy hour."  

So that was how he found Harvey's; that was the name of the bar.  The waitress turned out to be Harvey's daughter, Coral, and like she said, she was there every night.  Of course, Yamcha wasn't there every night.  He was only there _almost_ every night.  There had been away games and there was the occasional date with Bulma . . . . 

Yamcha sighed into his beer.  He had been reduced to the _occasional_ date with Bulma since His Royal Pain in the Ass tried to blow himself up.  First she'd been wracked with guilt and concern over his injuries, (she did design the machine's outer hull); then she put herself into overdrive building another one.  Yamcha would never understand why she put herself out for the alien.  They had had more than one fight about it.  It soon became clear that she was going to ignore his very valid concerns about housing someone of Vegeta's dubious character, so he stopped commenting on it.  If she wanted to drive herself into an early grave for that arrogant prick, so be it.  

"That didn't sound good," Coral said.

Yamcha woke up from his reverie.  "What?"

"You sighed just then.  A really deep "my world's crumbled" sigh.  I thought you said you weren't wrecked over the losing in the playoffs."

"No, it's not the playoffs, it's—" Yamcha stopped.  He had never mentioned Bulma to Coral.  It was something he didn't want to talk about with her.  He never examined the reasons for keeping the fact he had a girlfriend from Coral.  He just never mentioned it.  Lately though, he had begun to feel guilty about keeping it a secret; and he was starting to suspect that the secret wasn't keeping the fact that he had a girlfriend from Coral.  He was beginning to think that Coral was a secret from Bulma.  

"It's nothing.  I'm just tired, that's all."

"Hey!  Do you like the Coco Loco Band?" Coral asked.

"Sure!  They're great.  I love that new song, _Dancing__ in the sun, barefoot with my baby_," he sang.  

Coral laughed and held up her hand.  "Thank you for the audition.  We'll let you know.  No, a friend of mine dates their bass player.  There's going to be a surprise concert tomorrow night at the Savoy.  Do you want to come?"

"Sure, that'd be great!" Yamcha said.  He already knew Bulma was busy tomorrow night.  She was taking some visiting scientists out for dinner.  "It will be a lot of technical talk, so I'm sure you don't want to come," she said, making his decision for him.  "You'd just be bored."  A part of him had wanted to argue, wanted to say something like "but I'd be with you and we haven't been out in over a week."  An increasingly larger part of him, however, was relieved.  He could do what he wanted tomorrow night.  

"I would love to go," he said.  

"Great!  Meet me here at eight o'clock and we'll walk over."

****************************************************************************************************

The Savoy was located on Sixth Street, a place known for its nightlife.  You could stroll up and down the street and go from bar to bar, eat at one of the many restaurants and then go hear some music or buy odd knick-knacks from the stall vendors.  There was always something to do and all of it was fun.

Yamcha met Coral at Harvey's and they walked the five blocks over.  After two blocks, he noticed Coral's hand had become tucked into his elbow.  He waited for some part of him to object, for some alarm bell to go off.  None of that happened.  He liked her hand there.  He liked her beside him.  Heck, he liked just about everything about her.  The best part was, she seemed to like everything about him, too.  

There was already a line of people waiting to get into Savoy.  They joined at the end, but they weren't the end for long as more people quickly made the long line even longer.  As he watched the people stroll up and down the street, Yamcha didn't even realize his arm had settled around Coral's waist.  He just watched the passing people in a kind of trance, occasionally he or Coral would comment about someone's outrageous outfit or hair and then they would settle back into watching quietly.

"So this is what you do behind my back? See other women?"

Yamcha felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his head.  He blinked and before him stood a very, very, very angry Bulma.

"Bulma!  What are you doing here?" 

"Unlike you, I was doing what I was supposed to do—taking colleagues out to dinner.  What the hell are you doing here and who the hell is she?"

Yamcha noticed the confused and embarrassed scientists behind Bulma; their survival instincts keeping them a good five or six feet away.  

"I'm . . .uh. . .here to see a concert . . . and this is Coral."  

"Hello, Coral.  Are you aware that you moving in on my boyfriend?"  Bulma asked.  

"No, I---" 

Yamcha interrupted her.  "Coral, will you wait here for me please?"

"Yamcha, obviously this isn't a good idea," Coral said.  She looked confused and hurt.  

"No, it's a good idea.  Please," he pleaded.  "Be here when I get back."

"OK," she said.

Bulma watched the exchange with disbelief.  Yamcha was arranging a date _in front of her?_  

"Yamcha, I can't believe you would—" 

Bulma didn't get to finish before Yamcha grabbed her upper arm and pulled her away from the line and the confused scientists and led her to a less populated area of the street.

"Let go!" Bulma said as she jerked her arm out of Yamcha's grasp.  "What's the problem?  Don't want your other girlfriend to know you're cheating on her?"

"First, she's not my girlfriend.  She's a friend and she invited me to go to this concert with her.  You were busy tonight and I didn't think there was anything wrong with me having a good time instead of sitting at home.

"Second, I am not cheating on you.  I did not and have never asked another girl on a date," he said.  He looked into her angry blue eyes, noticed the determined set of her chin, the hands on her hips.  He recalled the strident tone of her voice as she said "_Are you aware that you moving in on my boyfriend?_"  He thought about the hurt he saw in Coral's eyes and he realized that he didn't see any hurt in Bulma's eyes.  It bothered him that Coral was hurt and it didn't bother him that Bulma _wasn't_ hurt.  His world tilted on its axis at this realization.  The bits and pieces of his life jumbled and were tossed about as his world shifted, then they settled into new places, unfamiliar but somehow more comfortable, more suitable.  He decided he liked the way his new life looked.  

"But I want to," he added.  "I want to ask Coral out on dates.  I want to spend time with her.  I'm sorry if that hurts you, but there it is."

This time Bulma did look hurt.  "Yamcha, how can you do this to me?  I love you."

Yamcha was not moved.  "No, you don't, Bulma.  How can you love me when you're always trying to change me?  Nothing I do is right; nothing I do is good enough for you.  I'm tired of it.  I'm tired of always being wrong.  Maybe I'm not as smart as you or as rich as you or as famous as you, but I am what I am.  And I guess I've decided that I don't want to have a lovely time living the rest of _your_ life."

Tears had started rolling down Bulma's cheeks and she wiped them away as she said, "I never knew you felt this way.  You never said anything."

"When was the last time I was allowed to have an opinion that you didn't give me, Bulma?"

"That's not fair."

"It's not about fair, Bulma.  It's about us.  We're over.  Somehow while I was dead, we grew apart.  You've changed and I have, too.  Haven't you noticed how much we fight now?  Haven't you noticed how much we never pay attention to what the other is saying?"  
  


"Yes, I have, but Yamcha, we can fix it!  I know we can.  I know how you feel now. I can change.  I love you.  We're supposed to be together forever, remember?"

"Bulma, I don't _want_ you to change for me.  Don't you see?  Love isn't about changing yourself to fit another person.  It's about finding another person that fits you the way they are, not the way you want them to be.  You don't believe me now, I know, but _you don't love me_ . . . and I can see now that I don't love you.  Now if you'll excuse me, Coral is waiting."  As he walked back to the line, he heard Bulma shout, "Yeah, well don't think you can come crawling back after this, cheater!"

Yamcha rolled his eyes and smiled at Coral.  

"So . . . are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Coral asked.  

"Later.  Right now I want to do something else," he said and kissed her.  

**************************************************************************************************

Yamcha didn't see Bulma for a month.  She left a couple of messages on his answering machine.  The first was apologetic, the second one angry because he didn't call her back.  He didn't call her back after the second message either.

They ran into each other at a fund-raiser for a children's charity.  Yamcha saw Bulma across the room.  She looked beautiful in a gown of pink silk.  He caught her eye and was pleased to see a tentative smile on her face.  He had known Bulma longer than anyone else except Puar. He'd like it if they could still be friends.   He still loved her; he just wasn't _in love_ with her.  

He sauntered over and opened with the one line he knew would get a positive response.

"Hi, Bulma.  You look really nice tonight."

"Thanks.  You look good too."

An awkward silence fell over them.  Yamcha searched his mind for another neutral topic, but Bulma saved him.

"Yamcha, you were right."

"What?"

"You were right about us.  That night I was upset and maybe for a few days after, but I know now that it was really my pride being hurt.  After a week it became clear that I wasn't broken-hearted.  It was almost . . . a relief." She gave a small smile.  "I still miss you though.  After Goku you were probably my best friend."  

"'Were'?  Can't I still be your friend?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said.  "I'd like that.  So where's your girlfriend?"

"Coral couldn't come tonight.  She's at her folks' place on Lake Pear."

"Oh.  Hey, Yamcha, can I tell you something? But you can't scream."

"Oookaaay.  What am I not supposed to scream about?"

"It's Vegeta."

"What?  Has he been threatening you?  Do I need to get Goku—"

"No, no, not that.  It's . . .I think he's _flirting_ with me."

"Vegeta _flirting_?" He appeared to think really hard.  "OK, I'm trying to conjure a mental image of Vegeta paying you compliments or giving you flowers and I can't do it.  You're joking, right?"

"No, he doesn't do anything like that.  He doesn't say anything nice at all.  It's just the _way_ he says things.  Like there's some secret offer he's making that I'm supposed to accept."

"Just ignore him.  He'll get the idea that you're not interested."

"That's the real problem, Yamcha.  I _am_ interested."

Yamcha blinked and gave his head a small shake as if clearing out his ears.  "Come again?  I thought I heard you say you were interested in Vegeta."

"I did."

"Bulma, I don't need to tell you how incredibly insane that sounds.  The man tried to destroy your planet, he killed your friends and he is still determined to kill Goku.   I don't think he's the type to "settle down" due to the love of a good woman."

"I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's how I feel."  

"Well, you'll do what you want; you always do.  Oh, there's my agent.  I should go say 'Hi.'"  He kissed her cheek.  "Just think before you do something stupid, OK, Bulma?  I'll be here if you need me."

"Thanks, Yamcha."  She reached up with both hands and held his face as she kissed his cheek.  She gave a wry smile as she noticed she had left lipstick on his cheek and used her thumb to wipe it off.  Her eyes grew misty as her fingers reached behind his head to finger a few locks of his hair.  _It's always so short now, _she thought.  _Not like. . . _.

"We really did grow up, didn't we?" she said.  

"Everyone does, babe.  Take care." Then he walked away from his past and into his future.  

***********************************************************************************************

A/N:  I know Yamcha doesn't have a last name in the series, but I needed one here, so I gave him the family name of the hero from PS2 game _Onimusha_, Samanosuke Akechi.  While I was at it, I lifted the other baseball players' names from characters in _Onimusha__ 2_.  The Hiroshima Carp are my husband's favorite Japanese baseball team.  

Don't forget to leave a review to let me know what you thought. Thanks! 


End file.
